The Veiled Boy

Draco woke up the next morning late in the afternoon, feeling nauseated and exhausted with an awful taste in his mouth. At once, every vague memory of yesterday evening flooded his brain, and he shuddered in horror at his own conduct and fell deeper into the melancholy that consumed him last night. Miss Clarke continued as normal, bringing him his clothes, brushing his hair, and setting his bath. And when Draco had been sitting down at the end of his bed, cleaned and dressed, with his heavy head in his hand, she did not speak a word of what happened last night. Of this, Draco was grateful that even in his miserable life there was at least a governess who minded his troubles. 

Having taken several concoctions to relieve his nausea, Draco stepped out onto the veranda and breathed in the sweet air of summer's afternoon, and at once felt sufficiently at ease. He could feel his governess's eyes on him, watching that he does not lean as far as he did last night. It was all a haze only brought upon by the drink. But in his heart, he reluctantly became aware that even without drink in a life such as this, the leap would be an honor.

Curiously down the gravel road, Draco watched several scouts move excitedly toward the manor, followed only by the usual councilmen in their dreadful black cloaks. There was to be a meeting this morning, such that Draco was expected to attend in the absence of his father. Suffocated both by physical exhaustion and emotional distress, Draco resented the very idea and thought once again of his detested life so firm before him. 

When Draco arrived downstairs, he found his father attending to the scouts as the councilmen situated themselves in the parlor room across the corridor. Severus appeared in the crowd and marched up to Draco with a worried expression. Ah, he is concerned, for I made a terrible scene last night that was much too unlike me. Everything nowadays seems much too unlike me, he thought woefully. 

His father turned to him, kissed him on his forehead affectionately, and left the manor with the crowd. So he does not know! Thank goodness! If he ever so much receives an inkling of my distress, he will understand everything immediately! 

"Calm yourself before you see the Lord," Severus said hurriedly. From within his robes, he handed Draco a calming drought, which the boy took rather frequently these days. "You'll be less inclined to endanger yourself. You're shivering; have you taken something for the nausea?"

"Yes," Draco nodded, blushing. "Forget all that I said last night," he added quickly. "You were right to weigh it all on intoxication. I meant nothing by it, I promise." Draco took the vial and drank from it obligingly. He did not wait for Severus to reply but took his arm as they made their way toward the parlor doors, which opened before they reached the knob. 

"Ah! The heir!" The Dark Lord inhaled sharply through the slits on his pallid face and smiled grotesquely. "I could sense you coming near. Did you not feel it, councilmen? The way the entire room darkened and catastrophe threatened to kill us all." The men bowed their heads toward both Draco and the Lord in submission. 

"Come, come! Sit by me, your grace." 

Slowly, Draco moved through the room, which had become a deathly silence. Like a symphony, the pendulum swung in rhythm, and the thin sliver of gold seconds clicked in accordance with it. How dreadful to be conscious of how these men regarded his godson. Severus could see every eye upon the boy, and he wished the boy would simply shrink into the shadows spawned only by the feeble glow of the tallow candle centerpiece. 

Draco placed himself at the head of the table nearest to the Lord, whose red eyes widened momentarily at their proximity. It was Lucius who typically sat in between them, but his absence merited this irrepressibly uncomfortable seating arrangement. Severus sat beside Draco, his heart racing with so fierce a pulse he believed every godforsaken councilman could hear it. 

"And Lucius?" The Lord asked finally once his initial awe for the heir wore off. "Will he be here?"

"No, he wished for me to relay to you that a rather trivial political matter keeps him from attending. Such comes with having the title of minister," said Severus coolly. 

"Yes, that is today. I nearly forgot." The Dark Lord smiled. "Has the inauguration occurred already? A minister's son you've become, Draco Malfoy. The title agrees with you tremendously! Does it not, councilmen?"

"Indeed," they all said in harmony. 

"Your father's inauguration dinner, I hear, was a spectacle. I wished not to make an appearance, for to perfect strangers I am not obliged to appear. Even some purebloods haven't the right to see me. What a shame, for I take it you cleaned up nicely," said the Lord almost condescendingly to Draco. "That governess of yours, did she dress you beautifully behind your partition, brush your hair, and perfume your hands? Maybe added some rose powder to your fair face." 

The entire table smiled at one another. Rookwood managed a laugh, seemingly having done so for the sheer purpose of proving he could with Lucius's absence. Draco, who up until now was blushing like a child, suddenly became severely  irritated.

"Do you laugh at the heir?" Severus asked suddenly to Rookwood. 

"Tell me it is not at all humorous that the being that carries the deadliest sort of power has his very own boudoir and a vanity that is not without cosmetics." Rookwood sneered, earning laughs out of the brave-enough councilmen. "I dare say he tends to himself better than my wife!"

"Well, that's hardly an insult," said Draco sharply. "I've seen Mrs. Rookwood, and quite frankly, it seems she has not tended to herself any more than you have. By that, I mean none at all. Really, councilman, did she truly look so dreadful on her wedding day? I sincerely pity you! For the sake of the mudbloods vice her modesty, I deem it a necessity that she be veiled." 

The councilmen laughed loudly at Rookwood now, who became a dreadful red. Severus smiled. The Lord, too, seemed very amused. "Now, now, enough jesting," said Riddle finally. "Rookwood, forget the insult to your wife and relay to us your proposal."

The man cleared his throat and stood, becoming more embarrassed by the continued stifled laughter across the table. "In the town of Budleigh Babberton, mudbloods greatly outnumber pure-bloods. The mudbloods and half-bloods account for seventy-five percent of the employment there, with a disagreeable amount of purebloods in poverty. The purging of this city would, in turn, allow—"

"Purging?" Draco interrupted. Severus turned to look at his godson, who'd gone pale, which was usual when the subject of slaughter would come up. "And what is their sentence? Simply doing better economically? The Veil sentence executes with the crime of conspiracy, disruption, or mutiny, but never because of economic progression." 

"Their sentence is their blood," said Rookwood, becoming increasingly irritable with Draco. "Upon your father's return, I shall be perfectly obliged to tell him that his son needs extra lessons in regard to the Book."

"That is not your duty, councilman, for it is not I who is mistaken, but yourself." Draco raised his voice. Severus gently placed a hand on his godson's wrist to ground him and rid him of his anger, but the boy did not listen. "The Book dictates no such thing. I suppose you refer to section eighty-four, part three, which reads, 'The riddance of mudbloods, traitors, and beastly beings from pureblood society enacts the first of these steadfast necessities to encourage paradise on earth.' Riddance is rather vague; do you not agree? Never does the word bloodshed appear; could it not also mean the cease of entry of their kind into our society?"

"And how could you do that?" Rookwood asked bitterly with a sardonic smile. 

"Mind your tone," Draco hissed. "Restriction would be easy now that father is minister. The limitations in the sale of wands, magical permits, and charmed goods would prevent mudbloods from using them. Narrowing the acceptable candidates for high-position careers and reserving such opportunities solely for capable wizards—purebloods—would keep them out of the ministry. Mudbloods, as necessity so dictates, may be reduced from slavery into a harmless nonentity."

The councilmen looked with synchronicity toward the Lord, who, with great interest, studied Draco with inquisitive but lively eyes. Severus whispered desperately to Draco to have a seat and to leave his efforts to him, but the boy was seemingly unembarrassed by the mutual silence and continued anyway. 

"Dormant is the mudblood who faces unwillingly the truth, and such that will haunt us when those mudbloods—there are many of them—speak in underground voices of resistance and revolution. Man's ego is unchanging in both pure and muddied beings; it resides in us all as a fierce fire. Could you imagine that paradise, as it is synonymous, becomes peaceful, and our children's children are unprepared for the mudblood's rage? So powerful it will be, for they are unlearned creatures, that it shall break the feeble fetters of their sentencing. Kill them off? How could we do so with such a small quantity in comparison to their theater? Teach them their place, remove from them their magic, and they will be as obliging as livestock with nothing but gratitude for our mercy." Draco's voice broke suddenly. The new earnest desire for peace without bloodshed seemed to lift him from his seat onto his feet; the stress of his feeling was clearly too much to bear. "Oh, you men possessed by desire and want! Don't you realize that even if the entirety of London is Veiled, we are still vastly outnumbered? Did you not yourself say that even in the insignificant village of Budleigh Barberton, the mudbloods and half-bloods overpower the purebloods in sheer number? The teachings of Hogwarts have oppressed their minds; none have heard of the Book. The destiny of our society lies solely in the reconstruction and rehabilitation of these mudbloods, not the slaughter of them, for it is unproductive and impossible! And you!" Draco pointed at Rookwood, who was smiling still. "How disrespectful of you to laugh at me when it is your own unproven interpretation you expect us to follow! A thick skull merits only a small mind!"

"I will slaughter those mudbloods with or without your word, Malfoy! Don't you realize how you contradict yourself? You relay to us your fear of revolution, but the very cause of it we are not permitted to slaughter? How could a revolution take place if they're all dead? In all of your sixteen years with nothing but rain to vex you, why do you suddenly deem yourself capable of political decisions? We have decided on slaughter!"

"Silence!" Severus stood and pulled Draco into his seat. "Are we so fragile that we cannot handle a simple contradicting argument, Rookwood?"

"From a sixteen-year-old? It is hardly worth noting!" 

"Never mind my age!" Draco stood again, bending over the table toward Rookwood. In sync with him, the shadows, previously situated behind furniture and in the corners, towered up to the ceilings and produced the most unnatural chill about the room. "I have been thoroughly horrified at how violently and recklessly you conduct yourself in society! How many raids have you conducted? How many people have you killed? Do you sincerely believe that by the time we get through the entire population, not one will challenge us in a desperate attempt at preservation? Fools! Fools the lot of you!" Draco screamed. "I have been to Hogwarts, and not one child was Veiled, and it was their behavior toward me, their outward hatred, that brings me to tell you all that these senseless killings are fruitless and stupid in their very nature! They will only fuel a fire! War will be upon us!" 

"War is already upon us!" Rookwood hissed. "Severus, you worthless half-blood, silence your godson at once!" 

Suddenly, the entire room was swallowed whole by darkness, erupted an uneasy clamor among the occupants of the room. Severus blindly reached for Draco, placing his hand where the boy was standing just seconds ago, but it was empty. 

"Is it cowardice that holsters your wand, Rookwood? Easy it is for you to point it at the unknowing and unarmed." Draco's voice whispered from everywhere at once. Severus could hear the Dark Lord laughing with amusement while his subordinates all grew increasingly uneasy. 

"Draco, quit your ambitions at once," Severus whispered, still attempting to find his godson in the darkness. "Sit down and forget about it all. Your father will take care of it."

Light came slowly, and Severus was soon able to discern the other councilmen looking frantically over their shoulders. The darkness gathered and concentrated into the form of his godson, tall and thin behind Rookwood. The trembling man whirled around to face him and drew his wand, immediately sending a stunning curse. Before it hit him, the shadows dispersed, and Draco rematerialized before his opponent with his own wand drawn. He stood there with a bored, vacant expression while Rookwood had become drenched in sweat and suffocated by breath. A single swipe of Draco's wand caused Rookwood to rise from his ground. With his eyes fixated on the victim, the Lord stood with his hands trembling with excitement. Then came a bloodcurdling, agonizing scream that shook every councilman to the depths of their bones. Rookwood's eyes glazed over a pearly sheen, and from his ducts came currents of thick blood. Draco seemed only to want to startle his opponent rather than actually harm him; he tossed Rookwood aside and released him from his torment. 

"Draco, come," Severus whispered breathlessly, trembling himself. His godson peered over at his opponent—Rookwood lay still in recovery and exhaustion—to ensure he was no longer in pain and made his way to Severus with an irritable look. "Why behave so recklessly?"

"I could not help myself. He has insulted the both of us most insolently. I simply carried on what became of me."

"I do not care for the insult. It is your well-being you have risked, and of that I am more troubled," said Severus, grabbing him firmly by the shoulders. 

"Your grace," the Lord stood and walked briskly toward Draco, with his hands outstretched toward him. Before placing them on Draco's face, he hesitated for a moment as if afraid he would suffer a terrible burn, but took the boy's face nonetheless and shivered at the sensation. "Truly dark magic of only the purest kind," the Dark Lord whispered with an undertone of awe and delight. "Our true gift comes in the form of a lovely boy, does it not?" He turned to his subordinates, who would not look Draco in the eye out of sheer terror. "With you, Draco, let us not fear their great numbers; let us not fear revolution or war. With you, the impossible becomes possible, the thousands become one, and the opponent becomes a mere triviality! You, Malfoy heir, will be the very thing that grants us our paradise and constructs my rightful throne." 

"You wish for me to participate in those killings?" Draco paled considerably, looking with a panic toward Severus, who sensed in his godson an imminent change of heart. 

"Participate? My boy you are the weapon! Who better than the very physical manifestation of dark magic?" The Dark Lord laughed loudly and finally let go of Draco's face. He turned to the other councilmen with an air of triumph, his arms spread about him and his head thrown back. "There it lies on the horizon: victory, conquer, and the restoration of our society in its purest form! Divine has given us our saving grace, and he stands here before you as my equal! Yes, Draco Malfoy, you are my equal!" Riddle turned, took the boy's hands, and kissed them earnestly. "Bow at his feet, councilmen!"

The men clambered clumsily out of their seats and bowed down at Draco, who looked upon them with horrified embarrassment. The Dark Lord held Draco's hands firmly in his own and whispered something into his ear. Draco shuddered. "Go on, Rosier!" The Lord kicked Rosier from the floor. "Clean out a small village just to trifle their pathetic efforts! Do it for our heir!"

Rosier stood at once, bowed, and took two other councilmen with him as he left to fulfill his given task. Draco trembled all over and left the parlor with tears in his eyes.

...

Wishing to attend to him, for it was clear his godson suffered tremendously during the entirety of the Lord's praise, Severus made for Draco's room but Miss Clark denied him entry.

"He is crying," she told Severus solemnly. "Madam has removed the council from the parlor and is tremendously vexed with Rookwood. I dare say when the master returns, another catastrophe will take place."

"Say nothing of the duel when you see him again," said Severus. "It was nothing but an emotional outburst natural for teenagers. Treat it as such."

"Yes, sir." Miss Clarke bowed and sat down again at her post.

The entire afternoon passed with the Prussian curtains of Draco's room closed so that not a sliver of light could enter. Being under the influence of a tremendous self-awareness brought on by the Lord's praise, Draco, almost in a trance, sat in the darkness of his room with his mind, turning those words over and over in his head, hoping that he would find some reason in it. 

"With you, dear boy, we shall conquer the world effortlessly. That is your duty; that is your birthright. Your reluctance means nothing to me. The curse within reigns firm over your weak conscience. You belong to the curse. You belong to me." 

There was no reason at all. To Draco, it was all strange, somewhat shocking, but most of all tragic. Draco looked upon the events at the meeting with remorse and disbelief, but from another's standpoint, maybe he ought to have been proud for his high standing with the Lord and his conduct. But in the darkness of his room, Draco felt so painfully lonely. 

From underneath the bed, Draco retrieved Harry's letter and the sweater he'd received from him on the last day they'd shared together. Draco pressed it against his face and inhaled deeply the distinct aroma of his dearly missed friend. His heart, as fragile as it was, momentarily regained its strength, revived by an instinctive attraction to that scent. Draco grabbed one of his cushions from underneath his coverlet, rid it of its satin cover, and replaced it with Harry's sweater. Then, without once scouring his room for a watchful eye, he placed it at the center of his bed and rested his head at the very center. 

When he closed his eyes and allowed the darkness and soundlessness of the room to encourage his imagination, he felt slowly the softness of the pillow gradually give way to the firmness of Harry's chest. How melancholy could produce a longing so vivid and tangible, Draco could not understand, but he basked in the warmth of his friend and pressed his face into his chest, smiling as tears fell from his eyes. With his hand, Draco moved it up and down, tugging and pulling at the sweater's fabric with an intensifying desperation. 

"I love you," he whispered against the fabric. "Harry, I love you. For you, I would do anything, anything at all. If only you knew how gladly and willingly I would attend to you. I belong to you. Only you," Draco whimpered. Then he'd fallen asleep—without dreams or interruption—unassisted by the usual dosage of a sleeping drought. 

There was a harsh knock on his door, then another, and then finally a voice. Draco recognized it at once to belong to his father. "Draco? Are you awake?" 

Draco's consciousness returned as quickly and completely as his slumber had dissolved; he frantically concealed the sweater-covered pillow with his coverlet and stored every letter messily into the drawers. "Yes! I am awake." 

Upon the entry of his parents, he had begun to open the curtains to give off the impression that he'd been wholly unaffected by everything. They looked upon him with gentle relief, the same way they would when he was young and had done something laudable. He blushed with shame, remembering clearly that he'd been too loose with his tongue the evening of the inauguration and much too emotional at today's meeting. Surely, after I had disappeared, they spoke ill of me to my parents, and now they've come to reprimand me. 

"Let me apologize for becoming carried away with drink; I assure you it will never happen again." Draco whispered hurriedly. "And understand that my conduct at today's meeting was no residual intoxication. I've behaved poorly, and I alone am responsible. Please forgive me." 

"Ah, we are not upset with you," his mother assured him. "Rookwood, indeed, but you? My son, you are quite perfect. Your father is sorry he was not there at the meeting, for he surely would have made sure no argument had broken out."

Draco gulped and nodded, slightly relieved at how pleased they both looked. "Father, I hope your endeavors today were successful. Will you tell me about it so we can easily forget the aforementioned events? I hope we have concluded."

"Oh, indeed." His father's eyes lit up momentarily with excitement. "I was at Crowned Crow Inn for an arrest and an execution." 

From Harry's letter, Draco knew it was there his friend was temporarily residing. If it was for his arrest, Draco was unsure and could not stand the anticipation. He wished he could stop his hands from trembling or the tears in his eyes, but his body and soul were weak; there wasn't enough strength in his body to conceal his terror. "Who's execution?"

"Harry Potter," said his father.

Erupting from Draco came an irrepressible, bloodcurdling scream. The glass doors, the mirrors, and the ornaments alike splintered ominously under the pressure of his torment. From the sky came a sudden torrential downpour, as if the divine cast its wrath on the wretched earth. 

"No! No! No, no! With his trembling hands, Draco pulled at his hair. "Father, how could you?! Harry hasn't done anything that could possibly merit so cruel a fate! Oh, please, I sense you are punishing me! Who told you?! Please, I will stop everything at once! I will not write him again! I shall marry Miss Parkinson by summer's end! I beg you only to spare him! Only him!" Draco rushed up to his parents and fell at their feet in a defeated bow. He grabbed desperately onto the hems of their robes with shaking hands, sobbing and begging incoherently. "Please!"

"My dear, please stand before us. Do not disgrace yourself by bowing at our feet," his mother cooed lightly. 

With tremendous weakness, Draco managed to stand with the aid of his father. He looked them both in the eyes and was so terrified of how stranger-like they'd become. Not an ounce of guilt reflected on their faces but a repulsive joy. 

"Oh, don't you understand? I love him," Draco wailed. "It came to me unwillingly and imperceptibly; it is not his fault. Punishment is my fate alone! Cleanse me, but spare him! Harry has never encouraged me at all and does not share the sentiment I am certain! Please, it is my crime, not his! Do not execute him, father. I beg you with all that I am!" He nearly fainted if not for his father's firm grip to keep him steady. 

"Ah, as I've suspected. Well, if you hadn't loved him, then I'd have made a right fool out of myself, warning Potter." Lucius laughed loudly. "Draco, honestly, one exchange with him, and it's become quite clear he has not read a book willingly in the last decade. But alas, if you love him, then I suppose it cannot be helped." 

Draco looked at his parents as they beamed with him with an odd sort of pride. "What?"

"Your father warned your Harry of today's raid so that you, my dearest, could leave all of this behind." His mother stepped forth and took his hands in her own. "The life we've paved for you is a winding walk, and there is a fork in the road without a sign. Your volition was granted to you by us before all else, before the fabric of expectation, and most certainly before the Lord. My love, how could you believe we would willingly make you so unhappy? Cleanse you, even!" 

"Harry is safe then?" 

"Yes," his father nodded. "Well, that is if he hasn't gotten himself killed by impulse, and I swear it was not my doing. We arrived there to find the place deserted, and everyone is wholly convinced it was a false tip. It worked out spectacularly. Unlike your Harry, I have a head on my shoulders, and I've thought of everything, but you're as stubborn as I am, and I know you would not have confirmed anything unless we've thoroughly scared you. For that, I am sincerely sorry. But don't you see now that we have a perfectly good reason to part with you, my son? You leave tomorrow." 

"Leave?"

"Do you wish to stay here under the Veil and continue as you were?" 

"No, but I do not wish to leave the Veil. It was so lovely before! Before the Lord..." Draco frowned. "But Harry... I could not have him."

"The Lord, Draco, is truly the only reason why our ways have remained strong and firm. But what you wish for is the dilution of our dogma when we were at our weakest. From now on, the fist becomes iron, and these purges must take place. And, Draco, you could not have Harry." 

Draco shuddered. "But I cannot leave my parents. I am young, I am scared, and I wish for no part in this wretched war."

"Then remain idle," said his father. "I will do everything in my power to have you under our roof again. Worry not, I shall find a way." 

"But I am here now," whispered Draco. 

"No," his mother said, shaking her head. "You are not here, and you haven't been for a while. This is not goodbye; stop your crying. Let it be the same as going off to Hogwarts, and I pray you return with stories to tell."

Draco threw his arms around his parents and wept bittersweet tears. His life now, in its entirety, ceased to wear the costume of dread but now presented itself unquestionably as his own. It seemed that in their arms, he undertook a renewal, a rebirth; the sensation of love will remain with him certainly until his death, for it was the very people he embraced now that seemed to live solely for the purpose of removing every semblance of suffering from his life. And to have doubted them before created, remarkably, a deeper adoration! Oh, if every child has been blessed with a mother and father in the likeness of my own, there shall never be another wrongdoing! The earth will become paradise, the hungry will be fed, man will be cured of his greed, and all will continue hand in hand as one! Draco, half in ecstasy, kissed his parents repeatedly on their hands. 

"You are not pained by my ailment? The Book, does it not say that if I hold these tendencies that I have been damned from birth?" 

"Damned from birth? You?" His father pulled him away from them and shook him gently in his place with a firm grip. "Draco, never have I believed you to be damned from birth. Understand that your parents love you unconditionally; we are ready to deem the Book wrong before you. My son, when I have done my all for your happiness, you will know it then that we worship you above all else. You are simply perfection. Only you."

"But I have a curse within me that the Lord deems stronger than my own will; my faults greatly outnumber my extolments. Could it be that it is fate that punishes my heart? For if I have been born solely for the reason to kill—"

"Goodness! What foul words come from you at your own expense! Who has told you such a thing?" His mother gasped, covering her mouth momentarily. "The Lord?"

"Yes, mother. He told me this afternoon. Did you not say the Lord's word is law?" 

"The Lord is selfish, and his words are recurrently contaminated by his greed," his father whispered, casting a glance over his shoulder. "Never mind him, Draco. Yes, indeed, you were born with a great power, but think it is not a curse, for it protects you—our perfect child—from harm. You were put on this earth because before you took your first breath, we loved you so deeply and needed you desperately. Your only sin is that you think so ill of yourself and you have undermined your tremendous value." 

"You truly do not despise me at all? Do you not believe me contaminated and impure?" 

"Never," said both at once. 

Draco's eyes welled up with tears once again, and he kissed them both on the cheek with love and affection in its absolute form. 

"So?" His mother sat herself on the silk divan and looked upon him with a heavenly gaze, her eyelids low with a full heart and inner contentment. She gently patted the cushion beside herself to invite Draco to her side. "Tell me, Draco. Ease my mind!"

"What of?"

"The boy for whom, as you've skillfully put it, a passionate love has erupted imperceptibly."

Draco blushed and glanced meekly at his father, who turned away slowly with an indiscreet smile upon his face. "Ah, this is no conversation for a father to bear witness. I am not too fond of your choice, and I may become enraged that someone as dim-witted as he could earn so worthy a heart as yours. Let me take my leave," he said calmly, almost in a laugh. 

"Is he really so dim-witted? Your father told me all about their exchange," said Draco's mother, laughing too. "And you know your father; he hardly has a good word for anyone beside you and me. Tell me about his character, I beg you. Let me decide if he is worthy of your efforts. For, unlike your father, I am open-minded!" 

Draco sat beside her and leaned his head on her gentle shoulder. With motherly affection, she placed her hand on his knee as a wordless gesture of undying support. "Oh, where can I possibly begin?"